


Reasonable Suspicion

by Laimelde



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brief canon-typical violence, M/M, There is NO actual abuse in this fic, domestic or otherwise, just misunderstandings, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laimelde/pseuds/Laimelde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's new neighbours are a friendly bunch, and enjoy having him and Phil over for drinks on occasion. But pretty soon they notice that Clint often comes home with bruises, and start to worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasonable Suspicion

Emma sees the new guy moving in down the hall and can't wait to tell her roommate Claire. The new guy's hot, like _seriously, you should see his arms!_

They have Wednesday night drinks with the gay couple down the hall. Technically it’s Max’s place but his bodybuilding boyfriend Evan is around so much it might as well belong to both of them. Their door is directly opposite the new guy, and by the time Wednesday comes around everyone's gotten a glimpse but nobody's spoken to him yet. Evan got a friendly nod in passing, but that's about it.

Claire decides to welcome him with a casserole and a card, to Emma’s amusement. She makes her mother's famous macaroni and cheese variant, and knocks on the door. 

There's no answer.

She puts the card under the door and puts the casserole in the fridge. She knocks on his door again the next day but there's still no answer, not even when she leaves it a few hours and tries a third time.

She lets Emma help her eat the casserole.

It's early the following week when the guy turns up again. Claire hears him in the hall, and gives it an hour before knocking on his door. Emma watches from their own doorway.

He answers the door with the chain on, but Claire launches into her spiel anyway. "Hi! I'm Claire, I just live down the hall and wanted to welcome you to the building and say hi. I left a card for you."

He considers her for a moment, then closes the door. They hear the chain scraping and then the door opens properly.

"Hi, I'm Clint," he says, and he really is gorgeous. And built. Claire shakes his hand, then gestures for Emma to join them. 

"Clint, this is my roommate Emma. Emma, Clint."

They exchange greetings, and they tell Clint about the Wednesday night drinks at Max's. He doesn't seem too keen initially, but eventually says _maybe, if I’m around_. They're satisfied with that for now. He'll probably be less hesitant once he's met Max and Evan.

* * *

He doesn't come the next Wednesday, but Max and Evan say they met him and his boyfriend coming out of the elevator the previous evening. 

Claire sulks about how all the hot guys are gay.

Apparently the boyfriend doesn't look like much, but then Evan's a bodybuilder and while Max is a financial analyst, he also spends his fair share of time at the gym so maybe their view is skewed.

* * *

The Wednesday after that, Max knocks on Clint's door to invite him over. It turns out the boyfriend is there, so they both agree to come and have a beer and watch the game.

The boyfriend is Phil, and apparently they work together in some government department - they're a bit vague about it. Evan makes a joke about Phil looking more like a government drone than Clint, and Phil agrees while Clint laughs, and the ice is broken. 

Emma can see what they mean but Phil’s lean and his movement economical and she’s willing to bet Clint’s more than happy with what Phil has to offer.

Plus, they seem like good guys. They're friendly and polite and they stay and chat about nothing for another hour after the game finishes.

* * *

The next time Emma sees Clint, he has bruises on his arm. She meets him in the elevator and spots them poking out from his long-sleeved tee. Clint seems surprised when she asks about them, and tells her he does a martial art and was sparring with a friend. He is completely unconcerned and Emma doesn't even think to mention it to anyone else.

* * *

Clint's hours are irregular, and it’s not unusual for him to be absent for three or four days at a time. Sometimes it’s a week. He tells them he travels a lot for work - visiting government offices around the country. Unsurprisingly, this means he misses a lot of Wednesday night drinks. He ends up attending once or twice a month in sporadic fashion - sometimes twice in a row, then missing three Wednesdays straight, before making one and missing another two. They don’t mind, but he’s good fun to have around and they make sure to knock on his door every week just in case he’s there. 

They see Phil about half as often, and it doesn’t usually coincide with a Wednesday night, but Phil manages to make another couple of drinks nights over the following months.

It’s at a drinks night, actually, six months after Clint moved in, when Max asks if anyone else has seen Clint's black eye. Neither he nor Phil are in attendance, though Max is certain Clint is at home.

“He was wearing sunnies when they came in,” Max says, “but it’s really bad, swollen and black beyond what the glasses could hide. And there was a scratch on his cheek too.”

“So, you think he’s been in a fight?” asks Evan.

“I don’t know of any other good explanations, but - look, what bothered me was that he evaded my questions about how he got it,” says Max, and Emma’s sure she’s never seen Max so worried about something that wasn’t the stock market. “This might sound like I'm jumping to conclusions," he went on, "but Phil was there, and when I asked Clint what happened he glanced at Phil and then away again, and I just... something felt wrong, you know?"

"You don't think... Phil?" says Claire. "He seems like such a nice guy."

"The bad ones always are," says Emma. She’s a nursing student and they’d covered how to identify child abuse and domestic abuse last semester. Along with how to help someone in such a situation and what they could legally do about it. "They’re charming and come across as open, friendly, caring. That's how they get away with it. And, oh crap, now you’ve got me thinking..."

"What?" asks Max.

"Clint had bruises one time," she tells them. "On his arm. He said he does martial arts and got the bruises while sparring with a friend."

"Oh my god," says Claire. "Two weeks after he moved in, he had a concussion."

"What? You never mentioned that," says Emma.

"It was the night you had dinner with your parents," Claire explains. "Clint and Phil arrived home the same time I did, so we caught the elevator together. Clint looked like he was in pain, so I asked and he said he had a headache, and Phil rolled his eyes and said ‘no, you have a concussion’."

"Did they say how it happened?" asks Max.

"Something vague about being mugged."

"Mugged. Right. Evan, you ever see Clint injured?" Max asks his boyfriend.

Evan shakes his head. "Nothing definite. Only thing I remember was seeing him move stiffly one time. I told him he should take it a bit easier at the gym next time, and he just nodded and went into his apartment." Evan shrugs. "Didn't think about it again until now."

"So, that's, what? A concussion, a black eye, bruises on his arms, and stiff movements - which could have been nothing, or could have been something bad," Max sums up. “And it’s spring now, but that means it’s been cold most of the time that Clint’s lived here. He could have had a whole lot more damage under those long sleeves and padded clothes, and we’d never know.”

"Hang on, what do you mean stiff movements could be something bad? Like what?" asks Claire.

"Like, it could be that he overdid it at the gym, like Evan thought, or I don't know, it could be broken ribs, or bruising all over his torso."

“Holy crap,” mutters Emma.

"Do you think that's likely?" Claire asks. "I feel like we might be getting ahead of ourselves."

Max shrugs. "I'm just, worried, I guess. He seems like a really cool guy and I'd hate to think that... _someone's_ hurting him."

"And by someone, you mean Phil," says Evan.

He shrugs again. "I mean anyone, but statistically speaking, Phil is the most likely culprit. Right, Emma?"

She nods. “It’s true. Domestic abuse is almost exclusively done by the romantic partner.”

"Why would Clint let it happen?" asks Evan. Of all of them, he seems most uncomfortable with the topic of discussion. "Anyone can see Clint's more built than Phil. Why doesn't he defend himself?"

Emma takes a deep breath as she works out how to explain. "Domestic abuse is usually mental as much as physical. Battered spouses usually have all sorts of justifications why they put up with it, why it’s worth staying despite the injuries, and the ones doing the damage are often emotionally manipulative. It's never just about one person hitting another - if it was, domestic abuse wouldn't be a thing. People would get hurt once and leave."

There was silent contemplation for a moment.

"Okay," says Claire, taking charge. "We're all worried, but I’m not sure there’s enough evidence for us to be certain that this is… that we’re not jumping to conclusions." 

“I agree,” says Emma quickly, looking at Max. Evan nods as well, and Max looks frustrated but waves for Claire to continue. 

"So let's make an effort to keep an eye out for Clint until we have more information. Maybe if we keep a closer eye out for injuries, we’ll be able to see if there is a pattern."

"How do we do that?" asks Evan.

"Be friendly - invite him over if you see him, offer to go to a pub for a drink or something. Look him over when you get the chance, make sure there's no new injuries. Nothing complicated."

“And keep an eye on Phil when he’s around too,” adds Max.

They agreed and turned their attention back to the game, but they didn’t really get into it that night.

* * *

Between the four of them, they manage to notice injuries fairly frequently after that. Most of it is cuts and bruises - a cut on Clint's forearm, bruises on both arms. One time Evan sees him wearing three-quarter length pants on a warm Spring day and there’s a solid blue bruise spreading across the back of his calf. 

Claire sees the clearest sign yet though - a bruise in the shape of a hand print on Clint's forearm. 

"He was wearing a long sleeved top with the sleeves rolled up - even though it's way too warm for that today - and when I saw the bruise I couldn’t help it, I made a noise, and he noticed me looking at his arm and just pulled down the sleeve to cover it."

"Did you ask him about it?" asks Max.

Claire sighs. "He cut me off just as I started to, said it's nothing and just walked away."

"We have to do something," says Emma. They haven’t seen anything in Phil’s behaviour to suggest he’s at fault, so maybe it’s not him, but _someone_ is hurting Clint, that much is obvious.

"Yeah, but what do we do? He clearly doesn't want to talk about it," says Claire.

“We’ll have to make him talk,” says Max.

* * *

Their opportunity comes, but not until things get worse.

There’s a rapid knocking at the girls’ apartment door, and Claire opens it to find Max and Evan with grim expressions.

"It's Clint," says Max. "Can we come in?"

It feels slightly strange for the four of them to be sitting in the girls’ apartment - Max's apartment has been the unofficial hang out area for some time now.

"We were heading out to the gym," says Evan, "but when the elevator doors opened, Clint and Phil were there."

"Clint's in a wheelchair, and one of his arms is broken," says Max, and Emma covers her mouth in horrified surprise.

"Oh my god," says Claire. "Did they say anything?"

"Phil said Clint came off his motorbike. Clint didn't say anything."

"He looked pretty out of it," adds Evan.

"I didn't know Clint had a motorbike," says Claire, and the others murmur their agreement.

"This is our opportunity, though," says Max, and that gets everyone's attention. "Clint's going to be off work for at least a few days, and Phil can't be there the whole time."

"Right," says Claire. "Let's make plans."

* * *

The plans don't end up being all that detailed, although Emma still feels like they are sneaking around. Claire and Emma visit Mrs Fuller (across the hall from them, next door to Clint) because Clint has been seen helping her with her groceries on occasion and they figure he might have a soft spot for the elderly woman. Which means he might listen to her if he won’t listen to them. 

Mrs Fuller is horrified by what they tell her, but she admits she has noticed some bruises once or twice too, and agrees to join them.

Max and Evan are put on Clint-watch, which means paying attention to what times Phil comes and goes, so they can approach Clint while Phil isn't around.

On the third day, they seize their opportunity. Evan has the day off, Emma's classes finish at 2pm, and Claire's shift as at the cafe finishes at 4pm. They’ve worked out that Phil usually returns about 6pm, so Max fakes a plumbing emergency to get out of work early, and everyone is in Max’s apartment by 4:45pm. Evan knocks on Clint's door.

They listened through the open apartment door as Evan invites Clint over to hang out, and Clint readily accepts. 

"Thanks man," Clint says as they cross the hall. "I've been bored out of my mind. Daytime TV drives me up the wall, and-"

Clint stops two steps into the room as he sees everyone else waiting.

He’s no longer in a wheelchair, which is a relief, though his movements are still stiff, and his t-shirt leaves a swath of scratches running down his right arm exposed. They disappear under his sleeve at the top and under the cast at the elbow, so there’s no way of knowing how far they go.

"What's going on?" Clint asks, and his voice has a hard edge that makes Emma flinch. 

"We just wanna talk, Clint," says Max. "Come and sit down." He indicates the empty seat on the couch, beside Mrs Fuller. 

Clint glances back at the door, but Evan stands there and folds his bulky arms across his chest. Clint's shoulders sag, and Emma's heart goes out to him. Poor guy. This can't be easy.

Clint walks over to the couch and gingerly sits down, but he doesn't relax like he usually would around them. 

"Okay. So talk."

They probably should have planned this bit, Emma thinks, as the room remains silent and everyone looks at each other.

"Nothing to talk about? Good," said Clint, and gets up to leave.

"No, no - just, sit down, Clint, please," says Max. "We're just worried about you."

"Worried about me? What for?"

"Your injuries," says Claire.

“This?” Clint waves his cast arm. “It’s a only a hairline fracture. Shouldn’t have even needed a cast, but they didn’t trust me not to use my arm for several weeks. Give it a month, I’ll be right as rain.”

“Not just your arm, Clint. We've noticed. You get a lot of bruises. Sometimes cuts."

Clint shakes his head, looking confused. "So I'm a klutz. I always have been. It's nothing serious."

"You had a black eye the other week," says Max.

"I was mugged."

"I thought the concussion a while back was from a mugging," Emma says.

"Don't tell me someone as built as you was mugged twice within a few weeks?" asks Evan, still standing where he can block the exit if necessary.

Clint shrugs, looking unhappy.

"And now you've got a broken arm," says Claire.

"Was it even a motorbike accident?" asks Max. "Because none of us have seen you with a motorbike."

"And therefore I can't possibly have been riding one when this happened?" Clint snarks, and everyone cringes. It’s not going well.

Mrs Fuller reaches over to pat his knee. Clint watches her hand closely but doesn't move away. "Clint, we think of you as a friend, and friends look out for each other. You don't need to hide it anymore, love, we've figured it out, and if you need help breaking up with your boyfriend, then you have all our support."

Clint blinks, looking surprised. "Break up with Phil?"

"I know it won't be easy, ending a relationship is difficult at the best of times, but we're here to help."

"We'll protect you," says Max. "We're right across the hall, so if he tries anything..."

"Wait." Clint shakes his head again. "You think Phil is hurting me?"

"You had a bruise on your arm in the shape of a hand print," says Claire softly, and Clint grimaces. 

"Someone's hurting you, Clint," Mrs Fuller says firmly. "Is it not Phil? Someone else?"

"No, it's... I really am just clumsy, okay? And I manage to find trouble more often than most people."

There’s silence, then Clint stands up.

"Look, thank you, okay? I appreciate that you're looking out for me, and should I need help, I'll ask. But I'm going to go home now."

"Just think about it, Clint," Max says to Clint's retreating back.

Clint waves his good arm in acknowledgment and lets himself out of the apartment.

"Well, that could have gone better," says Claire.

"Did you see his face when Mrs F said he should break up with Phil?" asks Evan. "He was surprised. He wasn't expecting that."

"So, what? Are we wrong about Phil?" asks Max.

"Someone is hurting that boy," says Mrs Fuller, in a tone that brooks no argument. "And if the boyfriend isn't doing it, then he's not stopping it either. Which is just as bad if you ask me."

Nobody can argue with that, and after a few minutes they make their way back to their own apartments. Emma and Claire both end up sitting quietly in the kitchen, not really in the mood for talking. Emma looks over her study notes but doesn’t really see them.

Just before 6pm, they hear Mrs Fuller's door open and close. About ten minutes later the elevator arrives with a ding, followed by a loud slap. Emma meets Claire's eyes for an instant before they rush for the door and peer into the hallway.

Phil is standing there, towering over Mrs Fuller, looking stunned and with a red mark starting to show on his cheek.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Mrs Fuller tells him, then turns and walks back to her own apartment. Phil raises a hand to his cheek, frowning, before turning to Clint's apartment and letting himself in.

Emma and Claire giggle for half an hour. Mrs Fuller is the best.

* * *

They don't see Phil again after that, though they do meet another of Clint's friends, a woman who is introduced just as 'Nat', and who hangs around for a few days until Clint goes back to work again. 

Clint never talks to them about it, or comes to any of them for help, but they compare notes over the following weeks and conclude that there are definitely fewer injuries. Phil doesn't come around anymore either and that makes them all feel better. Clint is still often away for a few days or a week at a time, but he comes to Wednesday night drinks once in a while, and everything goes back to some semblance of normal for a while.

* * *

There’s a knock at the door, and Emma answers it to find Max outside.

“Hey Em, just returning Mission Impossible 4,” he says, handing the DVD case over.

“No problem, did you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You were right, it’s way better than the first three. I’m actually kind of annoyed I never saw it on the big screen now.”

Emma laughs. “So when MI5 comes out..?”

“They’re making a fifth one?!”

Emma is about to answer when the elevator arrives and they hear Evan say “What the hell are you doing here?”

Max turns and Emma sees Evan and Phil standing just outside the elevator. 

Phil pauses, clearly on his way to Clint’s door, and glances up the hall to Emma and Max before answering. “Clint's been sent upstate for a work emergency. I'm about to join him there, so he asked me to grab a few things for him."

“No way,” says Max, striding down the hall to join his boyfriend. Emma stays in her doorway, wanting to see what will happen but not wanting to get involved. "You're not going in there. Clint may have forgotten to retrieve his spare key when he kicked you to the curb, but that doesn't give you the right to help yourself when he's not here."

"I'm not-" Phil starts, but Max cuts him off.

"If you go in there, I'm calling the cops."

Evan crosses his bulky arms and draws himself to his fully intimidating height, standing beside Max. Emma imagines he’s glaring at Phil, but their backs are to her, so she can only see Phil’s face as he considers the two of them, and nods once.

“I guess you’re calling the cops then.”

In one smooth movement Phil inserts the key into Clint’s door and lets himself in, firmly shutting the door behind him.

“I’m calling them,” says Max, pulling out his phone. “You saw that, right Em?” 

She nods. She ducks back inside for a moment to grab her phone and texts Claire about what’s going on.

 _OMG. Keep me updated_ , comes the reply.

Two police officers arrive ten minutes later and speak to Max and Evan for a moment before knocking on Clint’s door. Emma can’t hear what is said when Phil answers, but then the man steps back and the cops go inside, shutting the door again.

Max and Evan stay in the hallway between the elevator and Clint’s apartment. Emma texts Claire again.

Five minutes later Clint’s door reopens, and all three people emerged. One of the officers takes a bag of rubbish to the garbage chute at the end of the hall while Phil locks up and the other officer approaches Max and Evan.

“Sorry boys, his story checks out,” she tells them.

“What story?” demands Max.

“We’ve checked his ID and we’ve checked what he’s taking from Mr Barton’s apartment, and we’re satisfied nothing untoward is going on here.”

"Have you spoken to Clint?" asks Max. 

"I don't think that's necessary," she says.

"You can, if you want," Phil offers, looking like none of this is a bother to him. "I have his number, or the building supervisor has it, if you need to get it from someone other than me."

She shakes her head as her partner rejoins them. "We've seen enough. Mr Alders, your concern for your neighbour is admirable, but misplaced this time. Have a good evening."

Phil joins the officers in the elevator, and Max explodes as soon as the doors are fully shut.

“Son of a bitch! Why do none of us have Clint’s cell?” he asks. “I feel like we’re letting him down. You _don’t_ have his number, do you?” he says to Emma.

She shakes her head. “I’ve suggested exchanging numbers once or twice, and he’s never said no, but we’ve never actually done it either.”

“Same.” Max looks angry. “We’ll just have to keep an eye out for next time Clint’s here, so we can fill him in on what happened.”

“Guess so.”

Evan puts a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “C’mon Max. Let’s get down to the gym, work off some of this excess energy. Seeya later, Emma.”

* * *

Then aliens attack New York.

Their building isn't damaged in the attack, but nearly everyone knows someone who died, or who was injured, or whose workplace/car/apartment building was destroyed. The 24 hour cafe where Claire works is ground zero, and closes indefinitely due to major damage. Claire was lucky to have been on her way home before it happened - one of her coworkers died when a piece of falling debris hit his head. Max was caught in the middle of the action too; his office was in the middle of Manhattan, and he came home with cuts and scrapes everywhere from flying glass and debris.

He also saw Iron Man and Captain America in the midst of battle, and told the story of his experience repeatedly. He had so much praise for the superheroes that Claire teasingly warned Evan that he might have some competition.

Nobody had seen Clint for several days before the attack, so for a while none of them worry. They assume he must have been out of town for work again, and therefore safe.

The big news is the superheroes who showed up to fight off the attack. Iron Man is well known of course, since Tony Stark was a household name even before he announced himself as the flying metal superhero several years earlier. The others are more ambiguous, and the papers and social media sites fill with speculation. After a couple of days, the big green monster is connected with a previous incident in Harlem, though there are no further answers as to what it is or where it goes when it isn't fighting.

There’s a guy in a cape with a hammer, who seemed to control lightning. There's a guy wearing the Captain America suit from WWII - and plenty of people speculating about who it was wearing the suit, but no real answers. There's a woman in a skin tight suit and a man who uses a bow and arrow, but photos and information on them are even harder to find than the others. Eyewitnesses can only report that they seemed to know what they were doing.

A week after the attack, with no sign of Clint, Emma starts scouring the newspapers, just in case. A couple of the big papers are printing lists of those who died in the attack, and for a few days the lists just keep growing, before the number of new people confirmed deceased starts to even out and then start dropping. Emma doesn't find Clint's name anywhere, but neither does he come home, so she isn't reassured.

It’s three full weeks before they see Clint again.

They might have missed him then too, except that Max and Evan have gone away for the weekend, and Claire didn't close the apartment door properly when she headed out for dinner with friends. Emma hears the ding of the elevator arriving, and a moment later the quiet sound of a door unlocking further down the hall, which could only mean...

"Clint?" she calls, racing for the door.

Clint pauses in his doorway. "Emma?"

"Oh my god, you're okay," she says, jogging down the hall and throwing her arms around him. He drops the backpack in his hand and puts one arm around her. 

"Good to see you're okay too," he says warmly. "What about everyone else?"

"Fine, we're all fine," she tells him, giddy with relief. "Only Max was in Manhattan when it happened, and he got away with cuts and scratches. He'll tell you all about it when you see him."

Clint picks his bag up and goes inside, leaving the door open, and Emma takes it as an invitation.

"So, where have you been?" she asks. "I've been worried."

"Sorry," says Clint, and suddenly she can see he’s tired. "Been busy. Work."

"We should really exchange numbers," she tells him. "I could have texted and checked you were alive three weeks ago."

He hums non-commitally, checking his fridge and tilting his head in confusion.

“Something wrong?” Emma asks.

“No, I… I left in a hurry and didn’t clean out the fridge before I went. I was expecting a lot of old food to be turning into science experiments in here.”

“Oh! Phil!” says Emma, as she remembers. “He was here, and Max called the cops. I don’t know if he cleaned out the fridge or not, but he might have.”

Clint chuckles. “Yeah, he would have, he always thinks of stuff like that.”

“So… he really was allowed to be in your apartment that night?”

Clint grins at that. “Yes, he was. He texted me about it at the time.”

Emma feels embarrassed, even though she wasn’t the one who actively confronted Phil or called the cops. “Sorry, we just thought you two had broken up, and you weren’t around so it didn’t seem right to just let him-”

“It’s fine.” Clint cuts her off. “I know why you - or Max, rather - did it, and so does Phil. No hard feelings.”

“So…” Emma feels like she must be pushing her luck, because Clint is chatting much more openly than usual, but this issue has been hanging over their heads for months and she wants some clarity. “You and Phil did break up then?”

“Actually, we weren’t dating then,” he replies, grinning cheekily. “But we are now.”

Emma can’t help her jaw dropping, and Clint laughs openly at her expression.

“But he was introduced as your boyfriend.”

“Max and Evan made an assumption, and we didn’t correct them,” Clint explains. “And then they introduced us to you and Claire that way. And, well, Phil would come around at odd hours, and stay over sometimes, so it was easier to let you think we were together.”

“But you were just co-workers?”

Clint shrugs. “Been co-workers for a long time, and good friends for most of that. We’re pretty comfortable around each other.”

“Right.” Emma thinks about it for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait, so what changed?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been good friends for - what? Years? - and now suddenly you’ve hooked up? Something must have happened. Maybe on that long business trip?” She says it teasingly, but Clint’s smile falls away and he looks _bleak_.

“The - the aliens happened,” he says, waving an arm to indicate _New York_ outside the window, and that’s enough for Emma’s stomach to drop, but he goes on. “Phil nearly - well no, technically he did die, but they brought him back, and even then we weren’t sure he would make it.”

“Oh god,” Emma says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Clint shakes his head, and manages a weak smile. “He’s alive. That’s what counts.”

* * *

Life goes back to normal, for a certain value of normal. Emma lets her roommate and neighbors know about Clint and Phil, at Clint’s request. Nobody’s sure what to make of the situation, since Clint still hasn’t given an explanation for the regular bruising and injuries they all saw, but Phil has been gravely injured so even Max agrees to be polite. Phil comes to stay with Clint almost permanently after that, in a wheelchair for the first week and hobbling with crutches after that. It was a chest wound, they’re told, so his legs are fine but his body is weak, and he rests a lot. Emma’s nursing instincts make her want to demand all the details, but they assure her Phil’s getting the best treatment available and she has to settle for that.

Over time, they come to realise two things: that Phil still comes across as a genuinely pleasant person, and that Clint still comes home with cuts and bruises sometimes.

At the same time, superhero fever continues to increase. Tony Stark holds a press conference with Thor, announces the team is called the Avengers, but refuses to divulge the identities of the others. They publicly refer to them by codename though, and soon Captain America, the Hulk, Black Widow and Hawkeye are talked about everywhere. There’s ongoing debate about whether Captain America is actually Steve-Rogers-who-was-lost-in-the-forties, or whether it’s another man taking up the mantle. The talk shows and gossip magazines seemed to be split 50-50 on that one. Most theories about the Hulk talk about special transport cages and underground bunkers where the monster is held when he isn’t needed. And there is endless speculation about the identities of the last two members, covering everything from them being aliens too, to international martial arts champions. Hawkeye’s penchant for the bow and arrow had one paper suggesting he’d grown up in primitive circumstances, like _George of the Jungle_ or _Tarzan_.

Attacks requiring the assistance of the Avengers continue to occur every few weeks though, and it becomes a city-wide competition to see who can get good shots of the team in action. 

Captain America wears a mask, there are never any Hulk sightings outside of battle (how does a thing so huge and green vanish so easily?) and Hawkeye is often up high like a sniper, making it difficult for anyone to get a good shot of him. The ones they do get are blurry or from a long distance. Black Widow, on the other hand, they have better luck with: she's often on the ground, in the thick of the fight, and while plenty of her photos are blurry with movement, there are enough clean shots.

They still can't identify her (or if anyone can, they're not talking) but Emma thinks there's something vaguely familiar about her.

The Avengers take over from the weather to become the go-to conversation starter. Everyone has a favourite, or at least a favourite theory about who the Avengers are and where they came from. Claire likes Iron Man, though that's partially because she's always been a Tony Stark fan. Evan likes the Hulk's brute strength. Max likes Captain America - he read the comics growing up and has decided he doesn't mind if it's another guy in the costume, so long as he's living up to the original Captain's example.

When they ask Clint, he initially declines to choose, until Emma says that the Black Widow is her favourite and then Clint agrees with her.

* * *

Claire's cafe reopens and she goes to work again. (It's not actually _Claire_ 's cafe, of course, but Emma's always thought of it that way.) University classes have long since resumed, and Emma heads over to the cafe after her last lecture, buying a drink and studying - or procrastinating, really, playing with her phone - for an hour or so before Claire's shift finishes. Then they catch the subway home together. Making dinner plans and sharing gossip makes the trip that much quicker.

But the subway car comes to a sudden and unexpected halt between two stops, and the quiet chatter from the passengers ends abruptly. Emma clutches Claire's arm when a threatening voice tells them they are his hostages and to remain quietly seated _or else_.

A woman near the front bursts into tears, while a man a few feet up from Emma mutters "That's it, I'm moving. Damn New York."

"We'll be fine, we'll be fine," Claire says breathlessly, and Emma isn't sure which one of them she's trying to reassure.

It's a tense but quiet seven or eight minutes before anything happens, and then Captain America appears in the tunnel outside, shield in hand. Emma and Claire are at the back of the car and have a good view of the man.

"Max is going to be so jealous," Claire whispers, and Emma has to hold in a slightly hysterical giggle.

"Dr Jacobs!" Captain America calls, standing thirty feet from the car. "We received your terms, and I've come to negotiate the exchange."

Their captor finally shows himself, striding down through the car until he reaches the emergency exit door at the end and opens it. He must be feeling confident, because he closes the door behind him, staying on the step so he has a height advantage over the tall superhero.

"Good Captain," he says in greeting. "You have the files I asked for?"

Captain America holds up a folder. "Paper copies, just as you requested."

The bad guy - Dr Jacobs, apparently - is rightfully suspicious. "I don't believe you would just hand them over. What's the catch?"

The Captain indicates the subway car full of people. "I'm more interested in their lives than government secrets, Dr Jacobs."

The doctor is still frowning at him though. "Of course. You understand I'll need to verify the folder contains what you say it does, before I consider letting anyone go," he says.

"Absolutely," the Captain replies. "But I'll need you to tell me where the bomb is first."

There are a few gasps in the car. Their captor had been vague in his threats to them; knowing for certain there was a bomb made everything so much more terrifying.

Dr Jacobs grins. "So that you can disarm it before I can get away? I'm afraid it won't be that easy. The bomb is on a remote detonator, which I have right here." He pulls something out of his pocket and holds it up, but it's on his far side so Emma only gets the impression of something small and black. "Dead man's switch," Jacobs continues. "If I let go, it goes boom. So I'm afraid you'll have to let me take my file and be on my way if you want to save these poor, innocent citizens."

There's a thwick sound followed by the tinkle of broken glass and Dr Jacobs screams. His hand - the one holding the detonator - is pinned by an arrow that goes through his wrist and into the glass window of the car, and seconds later more arrows stab through the door, pinning his clothing to the car so he can't move. Captain America jogs over, pulls the detonator from Jacobs’ hand and secures it, while teams of agents in tactical uniforms surge forward from the darkness of the tunnel.

Emma realises she's panting in relief, and gripping Claire's arm so tightly she's probably cutting off the circulation.

"Sorry," she says, but Claire's looking past her, staring at something. "What?"

"Look," she hisses, and Emma turns to see the Avenger known as Hawkeye walking over to Captain America, bow in hand and arrows sticking over his shoulder.

"How did you know that would work?" the Captain asks.

"The wrist is a weak point," Hawkeye tells him. "Hit the right spot and you cut through most of the nerves and tendons in one go. Immobilises the muscles in the hand so it can't move."

"Nice. I'll have to remember that. Those were all normal arrows, right?"

“Yeah. Trick arrows aren’t always better. Sometimes you just need simple.”

“Don’t tell Stark,” Captain America says, and Hawkeye chuckles. He's still wearing sunnies, even in the dim lighting of the tunnel, but he's barely fifteen feet away and they can hear him just fine. 

Emma turns back to Claire, eyes wide. 

"It's him, isn't it?" Claire asks. "That's not just my imagination?"

"No, that's definitely-" but Emma is interrupted by a woman in a tac suit.

"Hi ladies, I'm Agent Singer. Can you tell me if either of you are hurt?"

They indicate that they're fine and Agent Singer proceeds to debrief them, making notes about their experience and letting them know what will happen now. Which basically boils down to: they and the other hostages will be escorted to the surface and given free taxi rides to their destination, and a phone number to call if they think of anything else or need further assistance. This all takes fifteen minutes before Agent Singer says "Any questions?"

"Can we see Hawkeye?" Emma blurts out, and then blushes when Agent Singer smirks at her.

"No." 

“But we know him,” Claire tells her, and the woman just raises an eyebrow.

“Sure you do,” she says, and walks away.

"That's so not fair," mutters Claire.

"It doesn't really matter," says Emma, trying to overcome her embarrassment. "We can talk to him next time he's home."

It's only another couple of minutes before the agents have finished with everyone and they're herded up and out of the car. Hawkeye and Captain America are nowhere to be seen, and Dr Jacobs has been removed from the door, though smears of blood remain and Emma instinctively gives it as much room as possible.

The passengers walk as a loose group back to the nearest subway station, which has been evacuated except for the ubiquitous agents. One stands as the bottom of the stairs, handing out taxi vouchers.

Emma is taken by surprise when Claire grabs her arm and pulls her out of the line. She marches them over to an agent standing watch at the side of the space.

"We want to see Hawkeye," says Claire.

"No," says the agent. "Please go back and be on your way."

"We know his real name, and we'll tell the papers if you don't let us see him."

"Claire!" says Emma, but Claire grips her arm and Emma waits.

The agent eyes them for a moment, then reaches for his ear. "Agent Coulson, I have two civilians here claiming they know Hawkeye's identity. Please advise."

They realise he has comms of some sort in his ear and wait for the response. 

"Please take two steps forward and look up into that security camera," he tells them, pointing at a camera mounted in the ceiling.

There's another beat, while they look up and Emma hesitantly smiles, wondering if Clint is watching that feed somewhere.

"Emma and Claire?" the agent asks after a moment, and they grin and nod. The agent glances up at the camera himself. "Yes sir."

"I knew it!" says Claire. 

"Follow me, please," says the agent, and leads them down a corridor away from the main exit.

"So, are you taking us to see Cli-"

"Hawkeye!" says the agent, stopping abruptly to glare at them. "In public, you call him Hawkeye. Understood?"

"Right, yeah," says Claire, sobering at the scolding. "Sorry."

The agent leads them on again. "The answer’s no, I'm not taking you to see Hawkeye. I'm taking you to see Agent Coulson. He's in charge."

"He's your boss?" Emma asks, suddenly nervous.

"He's almost everyone's boss," the agent says. "Even Hawkeye's." He tilts his head for a moment, then chuckles. "Maybe that should be _especially_ Hawkeye's."

"I can hear you, Agent Flynn," a dry voice says from the room ahead of them, and then they're being ushered in the door and they're staring at _Phil_.

* * *

Phil allows them to curl up on a couch at the back of the control room, and they doze off the adrenaline crash while he coordinates the cleanup. 

They are woken some time later by Clint himself, who fusses and worries until he is sure they are okay, and then looks kinda sheepish. “So, uh, I guess you figured me out.” He’s in jeans and a t-shirt, looking more like a casual bachelor than a superhero.

Claire pokes a finger into his chest. “You owe us some answers, mister.”

Clint raises an eyebrow at her. “I don’t actually, but I’ll give them to you anyway. Because I’m nice like that. Aren’t I, sir?” He throws the question over his shoulder, but Coulson just huffs under his breath and doesn’t reply, intent on watching the monitors and speaking to the Agents on clean up duty.

“’Sir’?” asks Claire. “Aren’t you guys dating?”

“He’s still the boss when we’re at work,” Clint grins. He leans in to whisper. “Plus, it’s kinda hot.”

“Barton,” says Phil in a warning tone, though he couldn’t possibly have heard. Emma grins at the banter. 

“You guys are so cute,” she says, and Clint just grins more.

It turns out the clean up is pretty much done, and twenty minutes later they’re on the sidewalk watching the last SHIELD vehicle drive away. 

“This may sound very forward of me,” Clint says, “but can I offer you ladies a ride back to my place?”

Emma giggles, Claire laughs aloud and Phil rolls his eyes but smiles a little too. “My car’s on the next block,” he says, and leads the way.

Clint decides that if they know, then Max and Evan and Mrs Fuller should know too. Phil suggests talking to everyone at once, so once they get back, Emma knocks on Max’s and Mrs Fuller’s doors. Everyone’s home and available so they all crowd into Clint’s living room. Clint offers drinks and soon everyone has a beer or a cup of tea to nurse.

“So what’s this about?” asks Max. He’s eyeing Phil, who’s sitting in the armchair at the end of the coffee table, while Clint leans against the arm. Emma sees Phil’s eyes close briefly and suddenly remembers he was badly hurt only months ago. He must be exhausted after a day like this.

“Claire and Emma were caught in the subway incident on their way home today,” says Clint, and suddenly all attention is on them.

“What?” asks Max, his face paling.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” asks Mrs Fuller, and even Evan is leaning forward, eyes full of concern.

“We’re both fine,” Emma tells them. “The Avengers were there in - what? Less than ten minutes?” She looks between Claire, Clint and Phil for confirmation.

“Seven minutes,” Phil says. “For a certain value of Avengers. Black Widow and Iron Man are both out of the country at the moment, and,” he pauses, picking his words carefully, “the Hulk was unavailable. Which worked out fine - he was probably going to do as much harm as good in a subway tunnel. But we had three Avengers, and didn’t even need all of them.”

“Wait, what?” says Max. “How do you know all this?”

“Because we have our very own superhero next door,” says Claire, and she’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

Clint stands up straight and grins at the room. “Clint Barton, Avenger and SHIELD agent, codename Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Marksman, at your service.” He finishes with a bow and a flourish.

Phil rolls his eyes but Emma can see he’s smiling too.

“No way,” says Evan, and at first it’s hard to tell if he’s disbelieving or just shocked. “That’s… awesome! Man, you’re incredible! Some of the footage I’ve seen - and not just with your bow, the way you fight hand-to-hand… can we wrestle sometime?”

There’s a pause, and then everyone cracks up. 

“Ev, when did you become such a fanboy?” asks Max when he can breathe again.

Evan just shrugs and looks a bit embarrassed. “I’m serious though, you’re an awesome fighter.”

Clint ducks his head, getting a bit red in the face himself. “Thanks man.”

“That’s why he’s an Avenger,” says Phil. He sounds proud.

“So, are any of the origin theories close? Because some of them are pretty hilarious,” says Max, clearly warming up to the topic.

Clint laughs and shakes his head. “I hate those things. When that story came out saying I was raised in the wilderness? Stark called me Tarzan for a week.”

“It was a nice change from Katniss and Merida. At least Tarzan was an adult male,” Phil points out.

“True.” Clint sighs dramatically and sits on the arm of Phil’s chair again.

“So what’s your part in this?” Evan asks Phil. “I mean, you guys said you work together, right?”

“I’m a senior agent, but… well these days, my job mostly involves coordinating the Avengers,” Phil says. 

“Translation: he’s our babysitter,” says Clint. “He makes Stark eat, he makes me do paperwork, he keeps everyone in line.” Clint glances down at Phil with a fond smile. “He keeps us from killing each other when we’re not fighting bad guys, and coordinates from behind the scenes when we are.”

Max coughs then, and sits up straighter in his chair. “Uh, Clint, so - all those times when you were bruised or injured?”

“Were from doing my job, yeah,” Clint confirms. 

Max nods. “Phil, I… I guess we owe you an apology. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh yes,” says Mrs Fuller, who has been sitting quietly and smiling - until now. “My apologies also. We did rather jump to conclusions.”

Phil shakes his head when the others add their apologies too. “You were looking out for a friend, and that’s not something I’d want to discourage. If it were me, I’d have come to the same conclusion you did. No hard feelings.” 

Clint nods in agreement. “We understood. It’s not like I was offering any better explanations that the one you came up with.”

“I do have one question though,” says Max, and all eyes turn to him. “What did you tell the cops that day, when I thought you were stealing Clint’s stuff?”

Phil actually laughs outright. “I told them the truth. I showed them my federal agent ID, and they looked through the stuff I was taking, and they agreed that if I was a scorned lover trying to get revenge, I was doing it very badly.”

They all chuckle at that, and the conversation stays light for a while. Emma asks about the friend that had come to look after Clint, and Clint confirms that it was Black Widow, but won’t tell them anything else except that she’s the deadliest of them, the one other Avengers are afraid of. Clint then grumps about the time they were naming their favourite Avengers and the fact that none of them had picked Hawkeye, but they manage to convince him that he was never any less awesome than the others, and he’s definitely their favourite now. 

Eventually it’s getting late and the conversation winds down. 

Emma notices a wistful look on Clint’s face. “Clint?”

He glances at her, smiles ruefully. “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

“What do you mean?” asks Claire.

Clint makes a face. “I’m moving into Stark Tower. It’s an Avengers thing. Response times and stuff.”

“Oh,” says Mrs Fuller, echoing the disappointment they’re all feeling. “That’s a shame. I’m sure Mr Stark’s place will be nice though.”

Clint nods, though he looks unconvinced. “I like this place,” he says. “I mean, I understand why they want us all in one place and Stark - well, he’s less of an asshole than you’d think - we’ll all have our own space, and it’s rent-free, in the middle of Manhattan, so it’s not like I can complain, but…”

There’s a beat, before Emma leans forward to say “But it’s not like you can’t ever come back to visit. Right?” she asks, looking over at Max.

Max looks blank for a second before he catches up. “Well, yeah, of course. You have a standing invitation to Wednesday night drinks, both of you, and we can totally catch up whenever else you’re free,” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “We might have to actually exchange numbers though, since I won’t be able to just bang on your door to see if you’re home.”

Clint laughs. “Yes, for sure. That’d be great.”

Emma grins. He might not be their neighbour much longer, but they’re keeping him as a friend.


End file.
